


You Are For Me

by Mnojick



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22582405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnojick/pseuds/Mnojick





	You Are For Me

Sherlock pout every time John's phone goes off. He has had a date every day for almost two weeks.

The case was boring and would have been a two before the fall but with John at his back Sherlock would chase down every tiresome art thief in London, just to hear the steady pounding steps behind him. John had moved back in and Sherlock was ecstatic, he had London, and the work, and John Watson. He had won!

So when a shot rang out and John tumbled to the ground with a cut off gasp behind him, Sherlock realised that those who won had something to loose. The noise played in his mind palace for days.

…

John had been cursing as he ran, cursing thieves, and his foolish heart, and those lovely, Lovely long legs beneath Sherlock as they carried him further away. Too fast. John accelerated around the corner to keep up, which is why he was hit in the arm and not his spine.

The shooter had seen him shift and led their target incorrectly… John only found this out days after the blazing pain knocked him sideways and crashing his head into a dumpster plunging him into darkness.

For three days.

He knew he was in a hospital, that he’d been shot in the bloody arm and that Sherlock was there. He had drifted closer to the surface at times, mostly when he had been transported from the NHS clinic to some fancy private place. Sherlock had been scolding him quietly all the way there but John had been unable to tell him to stop fussing.

He knew that he was in trouble with Sherlock but he was mostly unconscious so everyone else had to deal with the genius’ anxiety and if he could feel the rest of his body he might have smiled at the tyrannical mother-hen his flatmate had become. Three days was a long time to do nothing but sleep and when he was aware all he could do was lie there and listen, and think.

“John, this really is unnecessary of you, dramatic really. It’s a through and through, you had far worse Soldier but you had to go and hit your dead on a bloody dumpster, John Really!” Like the faux par of maiming his head on a common garbage dumpster was his greatest sin. John drifted off again smelling over brewed tea with too much sugar.

“John, please. Come back. I know I left you but it was for a good reason and this is just unfair of you.” There was an honest to god sniff and John felt his heart clench. The kick was too small for the monitors to see but Sherlock seemed to observe it and cold fingers tightened around his hand… had Sherlock been holding it this whole time?

An argument woke him fully on the third morning. It seems Greg had arrived to lay down the law that three days was too long with no proper food, decent sleep, or a shower. “He’s supposed to wake up!” “Sherlock, you said yourself he’s been stirring so you should head home, eat, rest, wash. Cause when he wakes up you’ll be busy. You’re a bit of a mess mate, it’s not going to impress him.”

John could hear the tap of dress shoes as Sherlock paced. “I’m not trying to impress John, he already thinks I’m impressive. I just want him to come back.” Sherlock’s voice sounded tight. “He will Sunshine. When he’s ready you’ll have him back okay? Now an hour or three is all I’m saying.” There was a thump as Greg wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and the pacing taps stopped for a few seconds. John cracked his eye open and saw a long blur shifting swiftly from the door to the sink at the opposite wall.

This place must be swanky if Sherlock can take that many strides to cross the room. In his drug addled state he was reminded of his Mum, when his Dad had been sick in hospital. Mum had paced like that and explained, at John & Harry’s pale looks, that she loved Dad and was worried about him. Sherlock paced, looking at the bed but not observing so John had a few repetitions to watch Sherlock Holmes pace, and love him.

“John!” “At last" Greg looked almost as relieved as Sherlock, who dashed to his bedside and sank into a well worn looking chair. The same long cold fingers he remembered tightened around his hand, the action was so smooth he knew that Sherlock hadn’t left his side, or let go for the last three days. He intended to say I love you but the words got stuck in his throat and the coughing drew a small flurry of medical staff.

It was nearing the end of the mandatory coherency test that John realised that Sherlock wasn’t stapled to his bedside anymore. The initial rush of medical staff had died down and it was just himself and the beleaguered doctor who had been assigned to him, and by apparent extension also to Sherlock, who had set himself against the wall near the sink and not said a word for almost thirty minutes.

…

John was awake, he was alive, seemed to have a touch of retrograde amnesia but everyone seemed very happy with his condition…could Sherlock have him back now? John was trying not to stare at him but after looking hopelessly lost for a few seconds had spotted Sherlock and seemed to just start winding himself up.

He waited until the end of all the medical stuff and slipped into his chair nudging past the doctor who was finalizing John’s file. A strong hand clamped down on his fingers and John squeezed his hand tightly. “You didn’t let go did you, while I was out.” John spoke quietly despite the doctor already having left. “It’s like my hand remembers yours.”

Pink touched scruffy cheeks and Sherlock felt his own face flush in response “No, I didn’t, couldn’t, not until you woke up John.” “You won’t now will you? Please?” Sherlock tried and failed to hide his pleased smile as their hands slipped into place. “No John, I won’t let go. I was so glad when you returned to me, uh, to 221B. Mrs Hudson had been beside herself after…”

…

The silence could almost kill him but John knew what he meant, he had initially refused to return to the flat. Angry and hurt at being lied to and left behind but the beautiful idiot had looked so forlorn whenever he visited and left. Mrs Hudson was far from beside herself as she had actually been instrumental in his return. Prepping his room and quietly getting his favourite tea in.

All the little things where there to point to his coming back but John had still been faced with a shocked Sherlock when he arrived with his bags. Now he was going home again and now he Knew why. Why Sherlock fussed and hovered… he loved him.

… three days home from the hospital…

John’s heart had been pitter-pattering for days now and he felt like a teenager but nothing seemed to have changed for Sherlock who was still all Sherlocky and it was driving John to distraction. He wanted to yell that he loved Sherlock back but there was just no space for the revelation when their routine had simply continued.

Discontented and thoroughly lovesick John was sighing to himself when a hand smacked the back of his chair. He jumped to see a highly perturbed Martha Hudson staring at him. “Tell him! John Watson you tell that man you love him. You’ve been sighing and grumping about this place by turns for days! Poor Sherlock is at the Shops! Buying dinner because he’s worried about you.” Her gentle fingers stroked his temple, his mum had used to do that to him. “Doesn’t he deserve to know Dearie?”

Moments later there were careful feet on the stairs and a rustle of bags on the kitchen table revealed a pile of produce making it’s way into the fridge. “I wasn’t sure what you would want John, so I…” “bought all of it?” “Yes well. Overkill is under-rated.” John took Sherlock’s hand off the aubergines and led him to the lounge.

“You. I want you Sherlock.” Colour bloomed across pale skin. “because I love you and I think you love me too don’t you?” John’s heart froze because he didn’t expect the collapse but Sherlock sat down like he’d been struck over the head and thank god he had been near his chair. “Yes, well yes John I do love you.” His eyes flickered from the grocery bags to John’s face. “The hospital Sherlock, I figured it out in the hospital but you can do the shopping whenever you like.”

John grinned and found himself climbing onto Sherlock’s lap. Hands settled on his back before moving slowly over his hips, thighs and grazing his bum. Huge hands John thought to himself and they felt so good as the cycle of exploratory touching repeated. Sherlock kept touching him like he couldn’t believe John was real. “Love you.” John whispered and leaned in to kiss that perfect mouth.

The reaction was electric, there was a slow groan, and exhale that seemed to come from Sherlock’s gut as the wondering hands settled over his butt, squeezing. One hand stayed in place blatantly possessive and the other wrapped around John’s head cradling his jaw and ruffling fingers through his hair. Sherlock kissed like he did everything else, completely. He drew John’s tongue out with his own and shifted to push his body against John’s weight in his lap.

John was debating between staying in the lounge for some frottage on the floor or pulling his blushing madman to a bedroom when the question was resolved for him. Hard muscles bunched in Sherlock’s body as he stood, lifting John with him. “Oi!” John was a bit startled but got a surprisingly firm “Hush!” and another kiss shut him up.

…

Sherlock finally had John in his arms and he was not letting go, it felt too good. The weight of him and the shift of his muscles made Sherlock pick up his pace. His bed, his John, he wanted to get started asap before he could wake up from this marvellous dream! He was tugging frantically at an ugly jumper when a smooth rush of motion put him on his back.

“Slow down, slowly Lock, we have time.” Sandy grey mixed into dark curls as John pressed his forehead to the whirling mind underneath. “I’m not going anywhere, okay. I finally have you, and you have me now. Let’s enjoy this okay.” John’s hands undressed him quite pleasantly so he decided to let John finish before he grabbed the bottom hem of boring beige and pulled.

…

Sherlock naked looked like a statue, a bit battered but so Lovely. John’s shirt came off and instinct hid his softened belly behind his hands. “No.” A velvet baritone demanded and agile hands pulled his own away. Long arms wrapped around him and Sherlock flipped them over again. “No John, I want to see all of you.” Those amazing eyes stared down at him and john subsided, melted rather into the mattress.

Slowly, John wanted to do things slowly and for them to enjoy each other so Sherlock enjoyed slowly undressing his John. It felt like Christmas! Unwrapping the present he had been watching patiently under the tree. Tan lines, and scars, and birth marks, Gifts! All of John just for him. Then John’s hands ghosted over the scars on his shoulders and the world froze as shame and a hideous vulnerability flooded through him.

…

Scars, there were scars on Sherlock’s back. John was exploring too, but it felt like walking through an art gallery. Every beautiful painting he had ever seen faded in comparison to the loveliness and strength above him. Sherlock had stopped moving, and breathing, and John stared in horror as water filled his lover’s eyes. “Sherlock? You’re lovely. My LovelyLove. I know, it’s fine. Stay with me.” John whispered quickly into a blood red ear and kissed shaking lips. The response was immediate.

…

John! John had kissed him, scars and all. He leaned down and deepened the kiss. Something had snapped in that moment and he couldn’t figure out if something had broken or snapped into place. But John was with him and everything else fell away as the sun’s light faded from the curtains.


End file.
